Untying the Noose
by Bio-Major Agent85
Summary: Hours after the Arkalay Lab explodes, Umbrella is already on site. After what they call 'The Subject'. Hunk's team is ordered to capture this unknown BOW and walk through the hording remnants of infected that remain, but there's something else. Last Chap
1. Chapter 1

Resident Evil:

_**Untying the Noose**_

July 26th 1998, 7:00am

It's the fragrance of the forest, the smell of salty pine misting in the morning air. It was a new smell, like the smell of a newborn child, the smell of growth. The forest was its own entity in itself, there were never enough eyes to see everything that happened in it or smell what was wafting in the air, but sound was a different story.

Combusting flames and charred wood clustered in the air as the rising fireball rose like fungus in the Arklay Mountain air. The explosion of the old mansion could be heard for miles, but it was unknown if any ears heard it in the early morning hours. Though, the incident had already caught one corporation's interests.

Heavy breaths took in the salty pine smell, the aroma straining through the chemical gas mask that adorned the user's face. The scent came in deep through the downed ramp of the modified Chinook Helicopter.

A decorative circle of white with four red triangles pointing inward, forming a type of plus, warped in the middle of it, labeling the side of the helicopter, the branding of the Umbrella Corporation.

Three bodies hung around the outside of the helicopter, dressed in greenish gray jumpsuits, just the first layer of their outfit, knee pads, elbow pads, dark green bulletproof vests, thick, padded gloves that covered the middle and ring finger, a mix of metal and plastic black chemical gas masks, and adorning matching grayish green helmets fitted over the jumpsuits. They were soldiers, Umbrella's Secret Service.

One with a slander body, too slander to be a man's, paced up the ramp, stopping in front of the still sitting in the staled helicopter.

"So, is Mr. Death having second thoughts on this mission?" Her voice was tough, but still remained feminine.

The sitting body stirs and then rises over her own. "No, just going over the objectives." It's said cold and emotionless, the usual from the one they call Mr. Death. That's not what was on his mind, what was, was the fact that they would all be dead by the end of this mission, expect for him. He was the best that there was, always got the mission done, but always came back empty handed. Umbrella was starting to think it would be best that they just start sending him in alone to save on the casualties. There were so many slaughtered in the last mission that white allowed only three USS members under him for this mission.

"What are the mission objective perimeters, Hunk?"

"First, is to secure and eliminate infected in the area that may have escaped the explosion. Two, is to retrieve "The Subject." That is our main priority; we can't leave the area without it.

"The Subject?" White expects us to retrieve a BOW that they don't even know if it survived the explosion?" She speaks roughly.

Hunk turns away from her, facing the wall of the Chinook that holds three MP5s in a special designed rack. His fingers lace around the handle of one and pulls it out of its locked restricts, like a samurai pulling out his Katana.

"It's out there. I can feel it." He cocks the gun, loading the first bullet into the chamber. Hunk grabs two spare clips and holsters them in a hip pack. A blacken steel chest lies underneath the gun rack. Hunk looses the lock on it and lifts the top open. A hiss of steaming vapor cooled from the chest. The walls lined with sub-zero ice and in the bottom, under the foggy haze, two clear canisters were packed in the ice. The dark blue liquid that filled the empty space in them stayed settled as Hunk's fingers laced around it.

The woman extends her finger to the other wall of the Chinook, two bulky clear tubes extending from the floor to the ceiling, large enough to fit a cow in each. "Is that for what we are after?"

"Yes, we secure the specimen and place it in the tube for transport." Hunk speaks without even looking at what she was pointing to. He nimbly straps the canister to his back and than slips the other one over his back as well.

The dispersing sunlight flares over the trees as Hunk walks down the ramp, his hand clasped on his MP5 like it was his baby.

As he came from the darkness of the Chinook, the two other members that wondered around outside, gave him a hard look through their covered eyes.

"It's time that we go." A bitter sternness came from under his mask. Those were the most words that he had spoken in a long time. He was too serious to speak.

"How's the forest look?" Hunk commands from the other man.

"I haven't seen many infected in the area, they seem pretty dispersed. Shouldn't be too hard to move through. Also, there has been no sign of the "The Subject."

"Sounds good, Riot. Ivy, we're moving out."

Ivy shifts from the helicopter readying her own MP5. She gives a quick look around to the rest of the members. "The forest is waiting boys."

The trees walk with them. They had traveled a mile through the mountainous forest and haven't encountered anything, not just infected, but the normal animals that would roam the forest. Most like scared off by the explosion of the old mansion, but it could be something else. And Hunk knew that this was the right path.

The bushes rattle a yard in front of them, the team as a whole tenses their muscle for the action. Hunk takes the lead, the bush rustles again as he creeps next to it. With his hand he moves the braches and leaves aside.

A tender scream reverberates from the dying deer behind the bush, deep and tattered chucks of flesh were missing over its body, pieces of bone surfacing through the wade of muscle. It squeals again as Hunk covers the bushes back over it.

Scuttle hands, parched and flaky, seize Ivy's simple shoulders, squeezing them with their dead grip. Not even a sense of panic comes over her as she un-holstered her Vp70 and leans it over her shoulder. With out the aid of eyes, she takes her shot and the gripping hands are gone.

A crisp moan comes from its mouth; it escapes from the new hole in the back of its head as well. Withered muscles pound the forest floor. Ivy places her side weapon back into its glove and slowly turns around.

"Damn zombies." She knew what they were and where they came from. You learn fast in Umbrella's Secret Services.

The four of them stand around it, the gray putrid tone of its flesh revolting to look at. It was a man or once was. Its eyes glared with a glaze of egg white. Parts of its lips torn away or dropped off from the rotting. It remained shirtless, the creature's chest sunken in, its rips exposed from malnourishment, its once nice dress pants were reduced to ragged shreds that only take to the zombie's knees.

"We have to keep moving. More will be drawn by the gunshot." Hunk pulls away from the sight of the creature and returns to the walk.

Just a few steps crunch the dewy grass under it, they shuffle with twisting bones. It came from the sides of the path that the team was on. Hunk stopped and eased his eyes down towards the noise. It was alone, another rouge that wondering the forest for whatever food it could found. Another tailed behind it and another. They were working in a pack, just like they did when they did research together.

Spits of fire burst from Hunk's MP5 sub machine gun, the bullets firing their marks into the creature's soft foreheads. They collapse on the path, like falling columns.

"Be on alert. It seems that the further that we go in, the more infected there are." The words grease fro Hunk's mouth.

No response comes from his team, just grunts of pressing muscles. Hunk didn't even realize that a group of them had come up behind them. Ivy struggled with another zombie, a woman about her height, her short black hair oily and flat, her clothes were the attire was that of a researcher, black shirt, white turtle neck, and white lab coat. Her flesh has turned grayish white, blotted with spills of red blood and torn muscle.

Ivy holds the zombie's throat with her free hand, extending her MP5 to the temple of the snarling zombie. The gun clattered, the fire from the barrel replaced by a rupture of thick and gooey blood that spurts on the other side of its head.

The one that they call, 'Iron Mask' chambers another shell into his Remington Combat Shotgun as three zombies cluster around him, the first shot peppering a large hole in the stomach of closet zombie, letting the contents seep through the rotting flesh. A cautiously aimed shot peels away part of its skull, killing it instantly. Greedy hands compress on Iron Mask's forearm and as the zombie's gaping mouth comes down to bite, its neck is halted by the barrel of the Shotgun. The zombie snarls and swings its head, trying to get loose from the Shotgun's hold on it. Like a rippling wave, the shotgun kicks with its shot. The dead creature's neck becomes no more than a stump as the head that roosted on it, flowed with the wind. The last one hobbles towards Iron Mask's backside, if he turned around right now it would still be too late. It's forehead splits with a round hole, the size of a quarter.

Riot gives Iron Mask an OK sign with his fingers as he lowers his MP-5. Iron Mask ignores him, turns his back to him and reloads the used shells that he just spent. Riot wasn't surprised by Iron Mask's reactions, he was used to them. All of the Special Force members knew of him, his emotionless cold front. He barely spoke, but that wasn't why he got the codename Iron Mask, it was the fact that no matter what he always had his mask over his face. None of them had ever seen him without it on, giving him more of a chilly presence.

"We have to keep moving. The more we wait, the further "The Subject" gets way from us." Hunk's words couldn't have been more right, because as the last of his sentence came from his mouth, a deadly scream, like a vicious ghostly animal came over the trees.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

The trees grew dense, heavy with pine needles that were able to askew the bits of sunlight that bushed over the canopy. A bristling breeze sweeps through among the trees, cooling down the already calm area even more.

The group used their eyes carefully, Hunk had the front, Riot had the left side, Iron Mask glazed the right side and Ivy held the back, forming a barrier from any coming attacks. They had to be carefully, because 'The Subject' wasn't the only thing they had to fear.

"Wait stop." It comes out low and muffled from Hunk's mouth.

Their eyes roll against the ground of the path in front of them. Under some over hanging bushes, several bodies laid on the ground.

"More fucking zombies, just great." Riot strut through his mouth.

"No, there already dead, which means that something else has already been through here." Hunk rattles the words loose from his thoughts.

"Do you think it's our, 'objective'? Ivy questioned, but she could tell that Hunk already knew the answer.

"No, they're too clean of kills. From what White says, this "Subject" is suppose to be very brutal in its attacks."

Hunk comes down to his knee, bending over the one of the bodies of a collapsed zombie. With limp fingers, he pushes its face off the ground, spilling a fountains worth of blood on to the dirt, the whole left side of its face clumped into the other side, flesh, bone and sinew swamped into a thick mush.

"Looks like it has been…punched." Ivy stammers out.

"Yeah, but whatever did it had to have some incredible power behind it. It's just not normal for a regular human to be able cave in a face like this, nearly imploding its whole head. There's another BOW out there that White didn't tell us about." He speaks with concern, but its more of the fact that he's not surprised by what is happening.

"The Tyrant?" Ivy pastes in the air for Hunk to hear.

"I don't think so. A Tyrant would have done a lot more damage to it. But from the list of supposed BOWs that were being experimented on in the Arkalay Lab and Training Facility, none of them could be able to do what was done here. " Hunk mind wonders on.

"What about this one, its neck has been broken with such power that its head is facing the wrong way." Riot uttered as he taps the twisted head of the zombie with his foot, its lower jaw lays loosely crooked.

"Definitely not the Tyrant, since it doesn't have to capabilities of snapping a neck, as do any of the other experiments." Ivy retracted her earlier statement.

"There's something else in this forest, that I don't even think White knows about, they would be very pleased if we bring it." Hunk smiles under his mask, but all of them could feel it, they just knew that Mr. Death was always looking for something else to challenge him.

A waft followed up the Cliffside of the mountain, the gust coming from underneath, blowing through the standing being's heavy boots. The coolness of the wind not brining any relief the being's flesh, the right side of its face, chest, arm and stomach, scorched with clusters of chucky charred flesh that bubbled over itself, peeking from underneath red tender skin crept. The owner of the charred and flaky flesh gave a look over the domain of the Raccoon forest, a vista that it knew too well from childhood to present.

It gives one finally look, before its muscles let it waft in the falling air, plummeting to the cresting trees below. Once heavy and thick branches become twigs and flying splinters as the rushing mass carves through them. The plated ground rumbles and crumples under the stress of downing weight as a halo of dust and dirt circles around the impact.

"Magnificent!" The words are of excitement and pride.

The individual comes to his feet from his kneeling form; he stands against the bending trees. His mouth gurgles with a rush of coming blood, sending him back down to the ground to his knees.

"It's too soon, my body hasn't been giving enough time to take in the virus to its fullest potential, but I can feel it through my veins, already working. It sure makes a dead man feel alive again." He spoke under his breath, as he heaved for oxygen.

"The first thing to do is get out of this forest and then after that my plan goes into action." He comes to his feet again, his body busy with laughter that bounded through the forest.

The scope of trees broke into a broad clearing, with a silvery river running through the middle of it. They stood by the peddling creek and gave into the water.

"Ok, take a break for second and get some water." Hunk rasped out as he slips his mask away from his mouth as he pulls in his handful of water.

The rest of them join him, expect for Iron Mask, who stands behind them, surveying the bank.

"Shit, I forgot that he never takes over that damn mask. " Riot haunts about Iron Mask's weird guise.

Iron Mask doesn't even give a look towards him; he just continues his gape over the landscape. His frame was serious, just like his face. He was a solider and only a solider and that was only he was. If it weren't for Umbrella, he wouldn't have any purpose. They gave him reason in life and the ability to hide himself away from everyone, that's all he wanted, to be able to cover his identity from nosy eyes.

A swelling and heated bellow blusters from the jaws of a scuttling Grizzly bear that has wondered up behind them. You can just feel the details, patches of its fur scalped from its body, one of its eyes only oozing a mass of inners and blood down its cheek, the signs of the T-Virus. It spewing saliva squirting across Iron Mask's back, the stale heat of its breath drying against it as well.

Fear and dread didn't even enter Iron Mask's body; no emotion could ever touch him, no matter how close to it he was. He spins on his clunky boots, rotating on the random grave on the ground. The Shotgun blares with a burst of showering pellets that scraped against the bear's left shoulder. The blowing chucks of flesh and fur jerked away from the bear as it charged. The air swatted through its opposing claws as it colossal paw palms into Iron Mask's brawny chest, his ribs scattering into thousands of jagged splinters on impact.

The bear carried its paw to the ground, Iron Mask attached to it. Even through his grief and pain, Iron Mask lugs the shotgun up, the barrel resting under the hanging fat of the bear's neck. The gun shattered with the scattering shot, doing nothing more than strip more of the rotten flesh away. The bear craned its rotating neck, before its jaws swooped on to Iron Mask's neck. As a minor sum of pressure is applied, Iron Mask's neck is snapped.

The bear's muscle wrapped shoulders fountains with globs of waxy blood as intruding 9mm rounds disperse against them. Its body becomes heavy with lead as the remaining members empty out the clip fed rounds. The crackle of snapping fire ceased as time was given for them to reload another waiting clip in to their empty guns. The bear's wobbly jaws fasten around Iron Mask's neck, and beings to drag the corpse away from the clattering noise.

Ivy's finger relaxes from their sweaty, tense grip of the handle of the drained gun. Those same fingers found a new confront in the feel of her Vp70 handgun. Ivy's legs give chase, spreading over the landscape like a springing runner. Her image manifested in the bear's gaping eye, before the barrel splattered through it. A single round popped, no blood, but the bear's skull glowed with the flaming shot.

His eyesight shaded in the darkness and enraged, the bear harvested Iron Mask's body in its jaws and scuttled away back into the forest.

Their heads lowered, their teammate being carried away and not one of them knew what he looked like. He was just another body now.

The man that once existed, the man that died during the Arkalay Mountain labs, lumbered through the forest. His flesh smoldered and charred by the explosion of the laboratory. His past was behind him, as well as the name, Albert Wesker.

The trees barked and snarled lowly at him. Thirsting teeth howled from the shadow of the wood as four skinny, but bountiful legs leap against the wind. It's muzzle snapped, as its canine form came closer. It once was a normal dog, but the T-virus had made it even more of a killer.

Wesker swiftly backhands the bounding dog, still standing tranquil as the dog's skull is fractured enough that it starts to seep through its broken wounds. The flaccid body whips through the air before hurtles into the trunk of a tree, splattering the once whole body into a wad of loose organs and flesh.

"I don't see what Umbrella saw in these pathetic creatures, trying to rationalize them as more than just test subjects, no wonder this company is going to fail." His words are bitter and venomous.

Another of the zombified dogs knotted its teeth in antagonism. Its eyes filmed with red, almost a burning. It skips over the ground and vaults of the smooth flesh of Wesker's throat. Wesker's loose fingers wrap onto the creature's upper jaw, with a slight pull, the wet and frail tissue strips from the rest of the body, like a peeling band-aid, letting the top of the monster's skull ascend away from the mass of its body.

The last one edges its body, its muscles harvesting for the lunge, its legs scuttle. Wesker does the same. The two appear as two charging bulls, each bearing their horns. Wesker snags the Cerberus around the throat and crushes it against the bark of a nearby tree. The whimpering dog squirms under Wesker's grip, a rope of bundled nerves hanging loose from its eye socket, tipping the end, its white marble eye. Wesker presses his weight; the creature's head crumbles in his hand.

Wesker's heart beat no sound as he left his ruin.

"It's this forest, we have no sight on could be walking up on us. We have to hurry up before all of us are killed." Riot jawed his complaints, his eye shifting unevenly under the infrared lenses of the Gas Mask.

"Be calm, the objective can't be that far from us, those screams that we heard earlier that to come from 'The Subject." Ivy heaved from her mouth.

Hunk didn't join in their rambling; he was too concerned about lied a head. Leaves and tree limps were singed, a sign of an explosion, they were getting close.

The ground scuttled with racing legs and an acute shrill, sharp and thin. Ivy and Riot twist around in hast and surprise, readying for whatever their ears just picked up. But only the leaves blew across the path,

"I know that sound…. Hunters." It seeps from his mouth as he turns around towards Ivy and Riot, but his eyes are not on them, but on the trees.

The branches sagged with bouncing weight, the leaves moved with green. Hunk's sub-machine gun crackles with tattering bullets. The leaves dry with dipping crimson, as a swollen dark olive body pitches from the hanging branches. It was bundle of thicken muscles, its upper body shaped like that of a gorillas, its legs taut and lean, each hand was placed with four honed, ivory claws. The oddity of altered nature's head was square, a v-shaped brow shading over its red diamond eyes, and a wide slit of a mouth, mounted with firmly placed rows of stripping teeth.

Another squeal coils off the trees, like an anger crying pig. The grove of trees wish with blurs of flickering red and an after shadow of green. Scattered leaves halo in the air as the second Hunter burst through the over laying branches. Its fingers lace with eagerness and attitude as they aim for the slender neck of Ivy.

Ivy's body bundles into itself, as he ducks the greasing claws that glide through the vacant air. As the Hunter stands disorientated by its flesh-less claws, Ivy's body takes the waiting time and twists the necessary muscles to circle out a roundhouse kick to the creature's broad jaw. The Hunter tilts to the ground, its face scraping in the dirt and rocks that scored the path. Ivy positioned her foot in-between the creature's shoulder blades. In her clasping fingers, her VP-70 held tight. The Hunter fidgets under Ivy's simple weight.

"Freak." It's said simply; no anger or emotion added to it, the single round that tunnels through the Hunter's head does all the talking.

"Get over here right now." Riot shouted over the gunshot as it faded out through the area.

Hunk and Ivy came alongside him, stopping next to the edge of a huge basin; the bottom of it glittered with dying cinders. The ground had been molded by pushing fire that dug deep through the layers of the terrain. Along the sides, lumbering pieces of ratty wood blacken to behind recognition laid. The air hung obese with smoke and fluttering embers.

"It's where the mansion once was. Our objective can't be too far from here." Hunk turned away from the sight and return back into the shadowy forest.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Wesker stumbled awkwardly against his own weight; it wasn't from his wounds, but from the change that was occurring in his body. Misery toured his veins and nervous system. Like a vulture pecking away dead flesh, the virus was pecking away the remains of the man that they called Wesker, only to be reborn with a new husk. He would become more powerful than any BOW that could be made by the fools at Umbrella, the best way to attain his revenge.

His throat soils with churning blood, before it seethes through his lips and gushes down the curves of his bare chest. It seeps like a maze through the coal colored scorched flesh that silhouetted the left side of his upper body.

Wesker buffers the side of a tree, the barking scraping at his back as he lets his weight slide down to a sitting position at the bottom.

"It's only a matter of time before I fully take in the virus. Just have to give it time." His teeth gritted through every word.

A waft of blood tittered on the wind, exciting the senses of a nearby zombie. As it hobbled over the roughs of the dirt, its ragged tan pants braced over its shrunken ankles, its once bright white oxford shirt, almost brown from the filth that it had collected, its greenish gray skin faded horribly.

Wesker gave it an eye, with an edge of defiance to it. It gives off an effortless moan as it sidles near him. Brittle and dry sinew crackles as the zombie bends down to feast on what it sees as a wounded meal. Wesker's brutal fingers clasp around the thicken neck of the zombie and twist through the flesh of the creature, snapping its neck.

"What use is it having an superior power, if I can only test it on something so lowly.' His evilness is spoken with the twine of a poet. "Though it will make my mission in the city that much easier." Wesker begins his laughter; he liked nothing more than to laugh, when he knew that everything was perfectly laid out for him.

The slough of depressing trees came even heavy as they climbed higher into the mountains, the sun completely obstructed by the haze of trees. They had only walked a mile and a half in the forest, but it seemed like each step they had taken, they walked back two. Nothing mattered more than getting 'The Subject' back into the hands of Umbrella.

"What is this BOW, that we are after, anyways? Ivy questioned.

"From what they told me, it's supposed to be one of the most powerful BOWs made, but one of the most uncontrollable ones. The reason why Umbrella wants it so badly is so they can unlock the secrets of why the damn thing won't die, no matter what it has been subjected to." Hunk speaks calmly, no emotive to his voice. "But I am sure that we can beat it."

As the two talk, Riot strays from their glancing eyes, his own catching something odd. In the allusive shadows, he captures the image of a figure lying under a tree, but it doesn't look like an ordinary zombie to him. Smudged by the shadows, the body glistens slightly, like it has a layer of Vaseline over its body. The shape is of a man's, but its features are different, its hands are fingered with claws, its joints in its legs knotted at odd angles, and an expose brain pulsates above its eyeless face.

"Fuck…it looks like someone skinned a zombie. What the hell would have done this"? Riot verbalizes his thoughts as he nudges closer to the corpse.

His head sweeps under the coating branches, the flouncing leaves scrapping over the hard plastic of his helmet. Riot gets an even closer look of the twisted body, its spinal cord protruding from its back, but still bedded deep in the stringy muscle tissue, its whole body laced in a solid coating of membranes. Riot's shoulders bend down to prod at the creature with the barrel of his gun.

Parting trees limbs and leaves open to Riot's face, in the break of the lapping foliage, an eyeless face spooks from the shade. Its lower jaw frees itself from its locked state, letting its tongue progress beyond normal limits. It wades in the air, measuring around Riot's helmet.

Riot lets the thing's tongue bath against his helmet, lifting his gun up as slow as it moved its tongue.

"Your move you ugly son of a b…" His words are strangled from his throat as the thing's tongue pulls around his neck.

His feet dangle feebly below him as the being cranes his weight with its tongue. Riot's face sprawls with blocking air, his eyes expanding under the pressure. His fingers know nothing more than to compress the trigger of the gun, firing a score of rattling bullets harmlessly into the trunk of the tree.

The one that lied under his feet, silent until now, hisses quietly. Unfastening rage circuits its body as it leaps and sweeps at the worn coughs of Riot, with its wearing bladed claws, sagging into Riot's rough material of his vest and jumpsuit and into his stomach. Tough flesh gives way to soft and oozing organs that seep through the widening slits that graced Riot's stomach. The jangle of dropping rounds that trickled from the rumbling gun click to a stop as the lost one plummets, along with Riot's life.

Tangles of throwing bullets and screams sounds in the hushed woods, singling to Hunk and Ivy that everything wasn't right. Their eyes take in the scene, but Riot's form still hasn't popped out in front of them.

"Riot, where the hell are you?" Ivy screams, the trees sheltering their ears away from all the sound.

Hunk spots the rush of flaring fire, the indicator of a firing gun. His boots are claimed into the darken vista that lays under the trees. A bubble of red played as a wart in the shadows. Hunk eased closer, sighting the bubble as Riot's intestines, seethed in the dirt, rotting in their own juices. The leaves spasmed above the gloomy area, spraying a basket of leaves from their bush of branches.

Thicken pinkish flesh, broad and flat lances like a jogging spear in Hunk's direction. With a hunter's reflexes, Hunk avoids the blade of flesh, but his gloved fingers catches it mid-air. The tongue takes on a life of its own, vaulting in Hunk's hand. His other hand fiddles the handle of his combat knife, working it into his hand. Swiping metal edges through the fatten meat, breaking the tension of the stretched tongue, the end hanging like a wilted flower in Hunk's hand. Hunk follows the ruined end of the tongue as it spits blood like a swinging hose. Lines of shredding bullets follow it back into the tree and don't stop until he hears a sawing scream buzz through the air. Not just one body comes down, but three, two that belonged to the creatures and one that belonged to Riot's.

Hunk expertly walks towards the mass of bodies. He seeps to his knee and his hand triggers around Riot's extra submachine gun clips that he held in his hip pack.

"That only leaves the two of us to finish the mission." Ivy crept behind Hunk, laying a feminine hand on his shoulder.

"The mission stays on schedule, no matter how many are left. What I am worried about is that fact these BOWs are something new, a mutation. So, that means we don't know what else is out there, things that even Umbrella doesn't know about. " Hunk rummaged through this new mystery, but didn't let it get in the way of the mission. "We have to move faster, it's already been several hours and the longer we wait, the more ammo we spend." Hunk stops himself, "Listen…" His ears drummed to whatever he just heard.

A stumbling march of feet patters the ground suddenly, following the scent that they left behind; whatever it was it coming for only warm flesh.

Albert Wesker flushes with tense muscles as he stands his grounds.

"I can feel it…my transformation is almost complete. Enviable power is finally mine. My revenge is soon at hand. It's only a matter of time that the G-virus will be in our hands and Umbrella will be done for. Birkin, its time that we turn the tables on them."

His body cradles into itself, squalling with tender pain and pumping blood. His hands wobble untamed, fidgeting like a hyper child, before they are clenched into fists. Wesker's features become rigid like someone was pulling on them with meat hooks. His eyelids lock like steel shutters. Wesker clenches his teeth, nearly breaking them in half. Then his body is calm.

Wesker's eyes opened, flamed with a glow of red to them, it streaking behind him as he disappears as a unclear blur in-between the trees.

They were at least a dozen of them and Hunk knew why they were here. He knew that this mission seemed to easy, even knowing, that most of the infected had been destroyed by the explosion from the mansion's self destruct system, that there was still a lot of them in the area around it that escaped the explosion. And even though they didn't seem them on their way in, that the infected knew that they were there, they could smell their flesh and gun powder, hear the screams from their dying friends, exciting them. And all it meant was that their fight just got even harder.

"Ivy, I want you to use your handgun and combat knife on them, save your submachine gun ammo for 'The Subject. And one thing, don't stop moving." Hunk didn't keep his eyes off them as they stalked in and out of the trees, only ten yards away.

Five of them lead the front, their attire the same as the all the rest, dressed as researchers: lab coats, nice shirt, dress pants; the three female zombies had skirts on, but still retained the swaying lab coat that daunted their shoulders. Most of their flesh had taken a grayish white tone to it with tints of green in it, aside from the exposed muscles that came from the rotting clumps over their bodies. The sour, dried smell that fall off them like powder even came through the powerful filters of Hunk and Ivy's gas masks.

Hunk slides his MP5 through the straps of the two canisters that he carries on his back, the glass clanks against the plastic of the gun. His fingers tip the grip of his combat knife, the blade still slick with blood.

"No reason to wait for them." Hunk lets his legs dash, running straight for the pack of zombies that desired his flesh.

Ivy hesitated, but knew that they had to get this fight over soon and waiting around wasn't something that they could do.

Hunk's clenched fist packed against the leading zombies' face, the blow staggering the unstable creature so much that it collapsed to the ground. As Hunk enters their range, their direction compress towards him. Hunk idles in front of the next one, waiting for it to get close enough; it nearly trips, almost stumbling into Hunk's arms. It's head sways towards the ground, the zombie's eyes not focused on Hunk. His fingers fasten around the zombie's cheeks, firm and planted, before he twist its head hard enough to hear the fatal snap from its spinal cord. Like the first, it gave into the ground.

Ivy's Vp-70 cracked with discharging rounds, the first one embedding into the sagging forehead of one of the female zombies. Dry, crisp fingers, void of any moisture grasped Ivy's forearm, constricting against the tough material of her jumpsuit. She tilts the gun to the side, tapping it against the yawning zombie's head, before she pressed round through its frontal lobe.

"There's too many of them. And I am running out of ammo." Ivy shouts as another takes the place that just fell.

Hunk thrust his knife from the temple of zombie that he just impaled, he going down with only a whispering moan.

"Just hold on." Hunk scales his leg for his radio, carting to his mouthpiece as his other hand grabs on to the throat of another reaching zombie. "Running low on ammo. Send out "The Package."

His knife is lifted under the jaw of the rotten creature, the tip of the blade piercing its brain. The knife greases from the wound as Hunk pulls it out, swinging out a spill of coagulated blood along with it.

"Package is being delivered." It came in clear over the testing noise that enclosed the area.

The ramp of the Chinook bounces as plastic wheels lift a large, orange tube, tipping about ten feet in height, typed across the front of it read, T-03. The pilot drives it from the back of the helicopter on a dolly, letting its immense weight do most of the work as it rolls down the ramp.

The pilot raises it to a standing position, the capsule shadowing him in its stance. With a brittle hiss, the doors of the container unclasp and a weighty boot stages from the pod. Sly green leather streaks over the boot, belonging to the oversized trench coat that wrapped the tall being in its embrace. A face drought of emotion laid dull in its whitish gray tone. As its face was void of expression, its head was null of hair, giving it an even more sinister manner.

The forest shook with the footsteps of their waiting backup.


	4. Chapter 4

"Where are they coming from! Ivy shouts as her handgun reacts to the pounding bullet pushing through it.

"They were always there, we just didn't see them when we came in. They were following us the whole time, we just didn't know it. I have a feeling that all of this excitement will lead our BOW straight to us. " His gripping hand grasps one by the collar of its shirt and heaves its limp feet towards him. His neck bobbles back, conveying the resting weight with it, and passing on the weight into the soft head of the zombie, Hunk's thick helmet depressing the creature's skull, sending the breaking casing into its brain. "Just take your time and watch your surroundings, take as many of them out before help arrives!"

Only the sharp tip of Hunk's knife glinted, the rest trickled with sticky blood. It laid waiting in his hand, the only defense that he choose against the spilling out of even more zombies that followed their brethren. The remain zombies that wondered the forest had gathered in one spot, ranging over thirty over that clawed and crawled over each other, trying to get to the only live meat in the woods, Hunk and Ivy.

Ivy's right leg boosted through the air, smacking with the brittle ribs of a fumbling zombie that closed in on her, as the impact rides the dead being to the ground, its head expressing to the sky, her handgun shoves a bursting bullet through its nose and breaking out the top of its head with a show of crispy red chucks.

They seemed to becoming out of the trees themselves, as more shifted from behind the trunks of them. Hunk just knew that it was too quiet, knowing that the Arkalay Lab housed over a three hundred employees and as well as all of the murders that had been happening in the city, that the five small groups of zombies that they saw where just the ones that had escaped the mass. Now they faced only a small fraction of that collection, but it was more than enough to cause them trouble, but it wasn't a mission for Hunk, unless there was a little difficulty in it.

Dry and dead leaves perched on the ground rustled with rippling thuds that wafted through the Arkalay Mountains like nothing before. It was muffled thunder incased in oversized boots. They were empty, but deafening, belonging to a giant that fell from the sky. Though it was an oddity to be seen by normal eyes, it as a being of mass production by the hands of Umbrella. Code-named, T-0400, a product of their Tyrant series, their most successful one to date. It obeyed their commands like a child, but it got its work done efficiently. It had been programmed for two things, wipe out all infected and protect the Umbrella Special Forces. It was a tool to their using.

A screaming face bathes at the treading Tyrant, a lingering Hunter enjoying its field day doing what it does best, killing. Even though it was hunched below the Tyrant by three feet, it had no remorse on facing it. Its fingers constrict, bracing its claws as its arm shelves itself horizontally. The Hunter's robust leg muscles jiggle before they spring the bottling mass into the air.

The Tyrant stood idle, arms to the side, its body craved like moving stone. As the Hunter descends, its lacerating claws edging closer to the Tyrant's chest, it's gloved left hand rackets into the Hunter's strut. The built force peels away skin and bone, wrenching the Hunter's body into two halves; a still wailing upper half and a useless lower half.

The two half of the Hunter globs against the dirt floor with its dispensing stomach, most of the contents being lost as it hits the ground. The lower half is flung away from sight, hitting a tree several yards away.

Sparking nerves cause multiple spasms through the Hunter's upper body, trauma from the unpinned abdomen that was soon becoming a hollow husk. The Tyrant still saw the signs of the T-virus infection roaming through the creature's blood; then its mission still wasn't finished with the subject. A gargantuan foot pods down onto the Hunter's block shaped head, easily pressing through the skull and brains, letting the Tyrant's foot feel stable ground under it. The spasms stop.

Attracted by the brutal undoing of the Hunter, the infected Grizzly Bear confronts the lumbering tower, bearing a fair fight with it. Weaving saliva prongs from the bear's piercing teeth, the bits of spit blotting light against the olive green leather of the trench coat of the Tyrant's. Marble laced eyes just stare mildly back at the active beast.

The titanic bear tilts its weight on to its hind legs, directing its height up, matching that of the Tyrant's. It's abundantly corded clawed paws thrust against the Tyrant's burly, the bouncing burden of its immense power off it. The Tyrant's feet grapple into the ground, jaunting the power of the bear through its tighten muscles. The Tyrant doesn't even falter from the force; instead it lets it travel through its rising arm as it strings it back. Like a hanging log, the Tyrant's arm plunged into the seeping flesh of the bear's face. The bear's cranium deforms around the Tyrant's pressing knuckles as they mend through the caving bone and protein. Forehead, eyes, and mouth meld into a thicken paste of yellowish red fluid, bits of teeth rafting in the streaming liquid as it ran down the rest of the dead animal's nose. Tipping weight hurtle the standing form of the bear tilting to the soil in a harsh thud.

The Tyrant's roaming foot splashes in the puddle of what is left of the grizzly bear's head, stepping passed it as just another dead infected, it's mission far from over.

Disconcerting fragile bones resound from a zombie's neck, as Hunk turns its held head, cascading its body to the ground as another takes its place. Cold, gray slipping fingers glide over Hunk's visor as they grasp from some type of hold. Hunk clutches the zombie's hand and uses it as a rope to pull the dead mass closer to him, as his other hand plunges the steel tip of the knife into the temple of it.

"We have to fall back, there is no way that we can beat all of them with small arms fire." Ivy rattles from her jumbled mouth as she shoves an advancing cluster of three zombies away from her, as their arms ring around her.

"Do it if you need to, but no matter where we go, it will be the same." His words ride with his leg that cracks with the padded chest of a zombie, fumbling it back into the horde of nothing more even rushing flesh.

"I'll try to lead them away from you." She diverts from the wading bodies that seep through the trees, hastening her body to the right into more dense area, but one free of zombies. The rampant pack splits their paths, some remain clustered around Hunk, slowly surrounding him in their reaching arms, and the others lurch and shift with exhausted sprints towards Ivy.

Ivy takes the ease of the run, letting her heart rest from its nailing even as she jogs. She knew that the mission was going to end soon, she could feel it and she knew that Hunk could to. Hunk told her that every mission that he had ever been on, it always ended in deathful situation that he always overcome, but always came back alone and this was one of them was exactly ones of those situations. Ivy just hoped that she would be the one that would break Hunk's 'only survivor record'.

Her thoughts jumped ahead of her. A dreadful shriek, like a vicious ghostly animal chimed in front of her. "HUNK! HUNK! It's here! "The Subject!"

It was a grief of hope, one that she was wishing for, but one that she was dreading. They had finally found what their mission had called for and could end it right here and now, but here came the hard part.

Huddled under her flickering infra goggles, Ivy's eyes came clear over what she saw before her. Its structure was of a human shape, legs, torso, arms and head, some features suggested that it could or once was female. The being couldn't have stood more than five feet as most zombies towered over its hunched state. Its body was shelled in what looked like a dress, but over the years it resembled more of a burlap sack, colored grayish brown and with rips and tears littered all over it. Across its legs and arms, bruises and lacerations corrupted them. The once woman's ankles were shackled, the metal teethed with rust, but they still held strong. Its wrists were locked in a wooden plank, something that looked like a medieval beheading restraint. The oddity's face was hooded by hanging skin and two empty faces, one roosting on its shoulder and the other resting on its chest, the eye sockets reserved in surprise, even without the add of an actual eye there. The mouths just drooped limply, stretching further than they would have ever gone if they remained attached. The faces were nothing more than a mask, human skin that had been peeled away and was being worn by its new owner. She was the creature of torment.

Ivy held her MP5 like trophy, drumming her finger on the trigger, as her head rolled around her neck, getting her ready for the hard fight. A vaporous screech blusters from the creature's mouth as her shackled arms linger above her head.

"Don't scream at me you, bitch.' Her words were flamed into the burst of dispensing bullets that chimed from her gun.

The womanly thing's mass tickled with the impacting bullets, popping with packets of blood. A jerking scream came from her maw, horrible and fitful. Her constrained ankles wobbled with picking speed, as she charged at Ivy.

The barrel of the gun cooled and sizzled with the still remaining smoke that mused through its muzzle, the rest of the bullets already feed through it. With her gun empty, Ivy hurtled herself towards the blistering monster. Revolving wind coils around Ivy's body as it turns around in place, her leg lifting like a rising crane. With grace, her foot pots into the beast's nose, the connecting impact flipping it on to its back. Ivy ladders her weight on to the down creature's body, walking across it like a bridge. Her fingers already plastered to the handle of her handgun, pointing the barrel in the middle of the masks.

Ivy lets her eyes strain away from her prisoner, "Hunk, bring the canisters. I've got her pinned."

As her head pans back, her neck stiffens severely, air being siphoned from her lungs by something alien. Ivy's eyes bluster with pain as she shuts them. Her hand creeps to her neck, her gloved fingers roving over something sticky and tube shaped, encircling about her throat. She has enough movement to turn her view on to her prisoner. From the blank eye sockets and mouths, five pale purplish tentacles wandered their new surroundings. With a free touch, one of them graces around Ivy's waist, and two others around her wrists. Her arms are jolted around their joints as the tentacles yanks at them.

"Hunk….Please help me…."

A building, horrendous shriek weaves through the creature's body before all of her strength and pressure is applied to her multiple appendages. Splintering skin and bone minced, as it was cleavered from the body. Ivy's stomach came unstapled, as a pressing tentacle grated through soft toned organs and slipping flesh. Her arms were pried from the balling joints that they perched on. Driving weight tittered Ivy head as it slump off her shoulder and chafed down her chest.

Hunk's eyes narrowed deeply, Ivy's death bothered him, but the mission always came first. Mr. Death was once again the only one that survived.


	5. Last Chapter

Chapter 5

The pressure was deepening, like a void that clotted in the forest and Hunk was in the middle of it. The gaining horde of zombies that swept at the backside of him and the violent BOW, the one that he has to take down and sedate before completely the mission, just tore his last team member apart leisured in front of him. If he attacked her, the zombies would attack him, if he attacked the zombies, she would kill him. His thoughts were tough and callusing over as they raced. The mission had to be completed.

Hunk takes a lingering step, but halts as a glimpsing shadow flings over him. A zombie hurtles with fumbling movements over the massing crowd. The limp carcass gazers into a burst of tender limbs and flinging buckets of blood as it batters against a tree. Hunk blinks away from 'The Subject' and glints in the direction of the roaming mold of zombies. A heighten outline looms above the heads of the dead beings, before a feinting fist packed through their a web of stomachs.

"It seems like my back up is finally here and it seems to be doing a good job cleaning up."

Raw bullets stream from Hunk's MP-5, his target settled on bring down 'The Subject.' Her torso lathers with bubbling blood from the packing rounds. The being's hobbled legs exercise with running steps as her arms waver over her head. The musing of running legs and catching bullets, hinder Hunk in his spot as he stands his ground, hoping that she will fall soon from the cascade of bullet. Battering hands crack against Hunk's solid helmet, the collision tripping Hunk's feet from under him. His shoulder mends into the dirt as he lines his gun from his lying down position. The roasting slags of metal picking away at the woman's scorned feet. Flakes of sneering skin peel away as heat blade of metal dip into it.

The raw tentacles swarm from the exposed holes on the 'The Subject's' faces, bending through the air until they loop around Hunk's Mp-5, snatching it from his gaping hands. Hunk follows the gun as the weaving appendages reel it away from him. With an open hand, Hunk's grasps the tattered collar of the creature and spools in the stumbling monster, in his other hand, his knife shimmers as it swipes through one of the bases of the knitting tentacles. Like a rotting tree limb, it slips off its housing and festers on the dirt covered ground.

Hunk sweeps up the Mp-5 from the lapsing feeler, handling it with his one arm, he depresses the trigger, branding the ogre with the beat from the thumping gun, but the creature retains its balance and strength.

"Damn, it looks like I have my hands full here."

Fumbling hands imprint around Hunk's neck, elevating his feet off the ground. Struggling for air, Hunk looks down at the craning creature and in the gray shade of loosen skin that hung over its head, Hunk saw a glistening eye, orange and dime shaped that voided in one of the gapping mouths. Through his remaining air, Hunk jams the barrel of the gun into the faces of the monster. A flustering rounds wrestle against 'The Subject's' rigid hide. The propelling shots boil in the face of the being, its eyes smoldered by the blistering flames of metal. Her grip backs from Hunk's neck, to cover and scratch at its swelling face.

"It looks like we are just beginning." Hunk heaved through his catching breaths.

Catching fleshing flung as the Tyrant's fist slides through the heads of the several zombies. A square elbow bends through the chest of stumbling zombies that covering around the backside of the Tyrant. It was a machine that wouldn't stop until the infected were all destroyed.

Blaring red teemed through the forest at a spreading speed, marking the back of the Tyrant. With soaring feet scale the Tyrant's back as strong arms warp around the Tyrant's neck.

"Time to sleep." Wesker whispered into the Tyrant's ear as his hands pulled the Tyrant's taut jaw upward, breaking the giant's neck.

Tumbling muscles faltered the Tyrant to the ground, its body spreading across the flat surface.

"Mass producing Tyrants is easy, but strength is in originality." Wesker chuckled, his eyes captured in the pool of red light. He steps over the massive body of the smeared Tyrant, searching through the crowd of zombies.

Crunching bone rise as they crease around each other as the Tyrant elevates its torso, its head bent to the side.

"It seems that I was wrong." Wesker redeems himself as his body reels around in a flurry, his fist already clenching the air.

Like a waiting catcher's mitt, the Tyrant's open hand seizes Wesker's punching fist in its colossal hand.

"How is this…" His words are squeezed from his mouth as the Tyrant presses down on his clutched hand, crumbling the already tight fingers.

Wesker's slinking body is lifted up as the Tyrant's raises its height. Wesker dangles against the Tyrant's strength, its bent eyes lingering against Wesker's own and with a cast of its hand, Wesker skids aimlessly through the tone of the forest. His back ranks around the shaft of a cumbersome tree.

Tracking venom held Wesker's body to the earth, his back trekked with pain.

"How could it have this much strength, its just a reproduction of our tyrant. It shouldn't be this strong." Wesker's arms push his face off the soil, pieces of dirt and wood binding to the running blood that seeped from the corner of his lip and down his chin. A slipping shadow wondered under his face, his eyes narrowing with a troubled evil.

The Tyrant loomed overhead, a foot already raised to subdue the strengthen being. Clarity lingered in Wesker's eyes as he grabbed the Tyrant's foot and driven it into the air, sending the Tyrant reeling back to the ground.

"You will be the cause of this company's downfall."

Hunk's heavy back grates against the stock of a tree, squeezing his body behind its mass, concealing him from 'The Subject's' sight as he gathers his thoughts. The drained moans of the mobbing zombies sounded in the background, but they weren't of his concern, the Tyrant was dealing with them now, he just had to stay focus and somehow get the creature on its back. His palms hadn't even started to sweat he was still in control.

He could hear its harsh rasping, deep and held, slinking closer. A cornered eye sneaks a peak at the tip of a flocking purple tentacle. Hunk turns from his hiding position, the butt of his gun batting against the head of 'The Subject,' waning its halted feet. Hunk discharges a score of stinging bullets into the faltering imp, coursing through its body. A wailing shriek assembles in Hunk's ears, battering his head with the sound. A whipping chain twirls in the air as 'The Subject' twists its hands above its head. The assaulting chain blankets against Hunk's padded chest, the shock toppling him off his feet. His back slumps alongside a tree, his head bath in confusion from the jolting strike. Hunk's eyes flare as a blur of purple project in a blaring speed towards him. Splintering metal, plastic and glass ring in piercing chucks as the right side of Hunk's gas mask explodes, tearing half of it away. His right eye glares calmly back at 'the Subject' as the pieces of shattered plastic and metal tatter to the ground. Half of Hunk's face came from under the shadow of his mask, his cropped blonde hair like the fizz of a patch, his eye was dull with rim of darkness around it, his mouth was simple and plain, it was the face of Mr. Death, but it resembled the face of any other man. The remaining goggle beats with reading red as the infra lens scans over her as his uncover eye takes in the information that he missed, something that he missed, the weakness of the creature.

"Umbrella doesn't realize that if they just focus on mass producing that they will lead themselves down into the depths of weakness." Wesker's eyes emerge at the feet of the Tyrant.

Wesker bends down, his hands hooking around the ankles of the Tyrant's boots. Impressive strength lifts the weight mass of the Tyrant and lobs the hurtling giant through a stack of trees, splintering through three trunks. The world shook with the bunching weight that beat against the earth as halo of dust settled over the area.

The wafts of dust seep around Wesker's face as he titters next to the settling dust cloud. The billows of dust sink away behind the trees, the plain vista of trees rising above.

"Where the hell did it go?" A sense of shame and despair jumble through Wesker's words, as he knows that his test of strength isn't finished.

A craving fist smears against Wesker's face, scraping through the charred flesh that husked over his cheek. Wesker's slacking body being hindered powerless as it skips and bounces against the grilling ground.

"I've been underestimating him." His words are choked with spitting blood.

Wesker stabilizes himself as he raises from the ground, his feet grinding in the dirt. His head lowers as his body tenses. With a burning speed, Wesker clasps onto the Tyrant's arm as he darts in front of it. With his left hand gripped on the Tyrant's overly large right wrist, his finger barely able to clench the top of it, his right hand streaks into the Tyrant's chest. Stripping leather mixes with the sound of tearing skin. The gray stone like flesh of the Tyrant's arm wavers in Wesker's hand, the end of it stumped with a bloody mound.

The T-0400 rivets backwards from the lost of its arm, shreds of its green trench coat cover over the empty socket, the ends of the leather greased with its blood. Even with the massive damage that its body has endured, it still wouldn't stop as its feet lumber towards Wesker to finish the job.

The blacken plastic of the gun glints in what little sunlight filters through the trees as it drops harmlessly to the ground. Hunk knew that guns couldn't bring this creature down; they were just a waste now. He had to relay on his skills and the canister that held the agent that will knock this thing out for transport. And Hunk knew exactly what to do.

Hunk crept with wondering footsteps, as 'The Subject' stood idle, watching his movements. An unstable shriek resounds before molded skin of the devil rushed towards Hunk. Her arms braced over her head, ready to strike. Her chasing feet stamping towards Hunk. With a tender grace, Hunk's feet evade her's, but his hand remains in her path. His quick fingers write across the baggy mask of rigid skin, slipping it from its unfastened roost. The veil of knotting skin hangs wobbly from Hunk's hand. Hunk tosses the mask of tired skin into the dusk of the woods, disappearing into the plane of dry leaves.

"MO…THER." The letters crept though like they are being said from the belly of a cave. The womanly monster stumbles for her hood of skin, her arms shielding her hideous face away from clear sight.

Hunk's uncovered eye spans over her backside, catching a glimpse of something that came through her tattered dress, something the blinked back at him. An eye, giant and out of place, swelled on her back, glistening in the sun. Hunk revolves the canister of navy hued liquid into his hands, pressing a button near the top of it, reveling a housed twelve-inch needle.

As the tortured child bends over to pick up the face of her mother that she tore off herself. Hunk rams the tittering needle into the engorged eye, rupturing the fluid that roved under the lens, the dark blue liquid soon starts to seep in. Muscles and blood crystallizes with freezing ice as the liquid agent travels through its bloodstream. Her body congealed, as she lied stationary on the ground, even the lingering vapor in her mouth soon dissipated. Lisa Trevor's secrets were back in the hands of Umbrella.

"I will make sure that all Tyrants are destroyed. Just to show that mine was perfect." Wesker's head stiffens with anger. "Starting with you."

Wesker's legs shimmer into a haziness of galloping speed before they leap into the air, ascending above the Tyrant's spoiled body. A craning fist cuffs against the T-0400's jaw, tottering the colossal. The Tyrant's head staggers close to the chest of a tree, Wesker lingering in the air, sends another fist into the Tyrant's face that propels its head into the bark of the tree, collapsing the Tyrant's movements for good.

"Pitiful thing you are. " Wesker's words scowled upon the inoperative Tyrant

Hunk's body frowned as he picked up his MP-5. His uncovered eye stumbles around the still form of Lisa.

"Looks like its time to go, honey." Hunk weakly makes out.

Hunk takes a simple step before a clambering fist connects to the back of his head, sending him tumbling over. His limp frame scrapping against the crowded dirt, splattering a gust of scattering leaves.

"I had no clue that Umbrella worked this fast, sending in soldiers already. And now I see why they have. The undying subject, that Birkin and me injected with countless of viruses over the last decade. The one that lead to the all-powerful G-virus. It seems that Umbrella is taking back what they said about her, that she was a failure, too uncontrollable to use as a BOW. But unlike anything else ever made or will be made, she is invincible, the key to immortality. Just a mere girl that lead to the rise in viral weaponry to its outmost peak. Now, Umbrella is whimpering for her to return to them so they can once again try to gain what they have lost." Wesker's words rise into the sky, bellowing over the treetops.

Hunk meekly listens to his screaming words, as his fingers grip around the handle of his MP-5 quietly. Hunk tumbles over on his shoulder, facing Wesker, the barrel of the gun as well. Searing blazes of metal spurt from the MP-5, the carrying bullets daze past Wesker's swift movements, Wesker just stepping out of their way.

"Umbrella doesn't know what they have lost, they don't know the power they could have if their work ethics were anything to be proud of. That they work on biological weapons that lack intelligence and combat skills. We will soon see who is the stronger of the two." Wesker's feet ascend from under him, elevating his nimble weight, before they stooped over Hunk's subsided form.

"You may just be a solider of Umbrella, but you are corrupted by them. Their filth is stained all over you. Someone as impressive as you shouldn't be working as them. You remind me of myself, before I knew there was a better company, one that saw what I saw. We could use some good soldiers, ones that will help us out. Umbrella will sell you out; work you to death trying to fix their mistakes." The bracing words trolled from Wesker's jaws.

Hunk teemed over Wesker with his uncovered eye, "My mission is not complete." With those misting words, Hunk supplies his hand with his combat knife and plunges its deep blade into the scorched flesh of Wesker's left side, gutting into the weaken skin.

The caked, crusted skin splattered apart, dropping to the ground as chucks as Hunk's hand pulls from the gorge of a wound, his blade skewed with a lump of glistening crimson, oblong and round and puffed with air, it was Wesker's lung.

The color that paced through Wesker's face dwindled, brightening to a vivid white. His mouth dried with stale air and his eyes weakened and fainted back to their normal color.

"Everything has a weakness." Hunk spat with a tender hatred, sliding his knife from the deflating organ, and letting Wesker deflate with it.

Hunk titters back to the stability of his heels and grips the remaining canister of freezing agent. He closely kneels down to the battered, strengthen human as a seeping pool of blood clots on Wesker's torso. The needle of the canister digs through Wesker's bare back, sweeping the freezing liquid through his veins, the flowing wound pumping slowly as Wesker's mouth wavers with a clouding mist of vapor.

The ground is punished by pummeling steps, trembling the might of the trees. Hunk's gaze dangled from Wesker's freezing form to the reverberating sound. The harsh green leather was buffed with blood and rips as it flowed around the assaulted figure of the Tyrant – 0400. Hunk puts his eyes back to the creased bulk of Wesker, his mind wondering around the words that he said and how weak he looked now. Hunk stooped down and boosted Wesker's stumbled mass on to his shoulder.

Hunk ladders towards the reason why he was in this forest, the one thing that was going to end this mission as long he got it back to the helicopter. He crouches next to her to shovel her immense weight on his other shoulder, but a lumbering arm swiped under her pulped body, jacketing over its boarding shoulder.

The two of them stride through the forest once again, their jewels branded on their shoulders.

The clearing daunted with the impression of the idling Chinook. Situated next to the ramp, the pilot stood, his face grimed with a tainted smile.

" I've been waiting." The pilot squeaks through his mouth humbly.

Hunk disregards his words as he treads up the ramp.

"Whose the guy? I don't remember him being on the objective list." The pilot squanders at as Hunk roams into the shade of the dark metal.

"Just something that Umbrella will be highly interested in." The words wander back to the pilot's ears.

Hunk lingers towards the two empty capsules that adorn the wall of the modified Chinook. The clasped door unfastens with a white mist; Hunk prods Wesker's crumbled body into the tube, letting the filtering mass of Wesker form into a ball at the bottom. The door closes and the cylinder shuffles with a rush of clear, bluish fluid, rising Wesker's body to the middle of the tube.

"Goddamn, the Tyrant really got messed up. But it retained its mission perimeters. It's really amazing that these things are being mass-produced by the hundreds." The pilot converses as he lets his eyes wonder over the Tyrant as it lays Lisa on the steel of ramp. It takes an easy step towards the orange tube that it was carried, lying next to the ramp. The Tyrant slumbers back into its coffin like transport, as the pilot leisurely stands local to it, shutting the doors over the laying BOW.

Hunk ladles Lisa into the brace of his arms, shipping her into the gloom of the cabin. He lobs her soiled profile into the last tube, the one marked for her. The seeping fluid bubbles over her body, letting it bob in its elegance. Hunk places his hand over the tube and gives her an insolent appearance with his unshielded eye, a look that tells her she is the sole reason that his team members had to die.

A bolt of hydraulic compress hoisted the ramp into the back of the Chinook. Hunk grinds into the stiff bench, his body puzzled with strain and tiredness.

"Only you survive again. I swear Umbrella should send you in alone. It would save on casualties. While, I guess I have to take that back, since you weren't the only one, but the only living one." The pilots words worm through Hunk's ears, he doesn't want to listen to them, he just wants to think about his next mission.

September 25th, 1998, 10:00pm

A slim hand, firm, but touched by a tone of femininity wipes the condensation from a tall tube like container. Her fingers lace around the keypad on the side of the cylinder, draining the curtain of fluid that was in it. She opens the door prematurely, letting a gush of sloshing liquid stretch its form across the cold floor, as well as the bidding body of Wesker, His sluggish eyes glancing on something red.

"You're late."


End file.
